Love-Me-Nots
by ChibiKanakoNyu
Summary: Sometimes, love is like a countdown. Falling flower petals, at times kind, at others unfortunate. Who on this wide earth would find a dirty-mouthed cook and a boorish swordsman counting Daisies, though? - Secret Valentine story! (M rated, wait for it.)
1. Petal 1

**A/N: This is a ZoSan Secret Valentine's gift for Tumblr user sunny-donna! Sorry for the wait, dear, and I hope you like it!**

******.:o.O.o:.**

**Petal 1**

**.:o.O.o:.**

„Six...! Seven...! Eight...!"

Sweat started to cumulate on Zoro's brow. He had forgotten his bandana at home that day, but it didn't really matter. He would leave it to run down along his face; he would let it be another test of will.

The local kendo club's temporary training hall had thin walls and no heating. Alas, it was only the trophy room of the city gym, emptied and at their disposal while the renovations on their own club building were done, hopefully while the winter was still dry. Their sensei had been encouraging. It wouldn't be a problem, he had said, as long as they would have a proper warming-up.

And by that, he had meant a rigorous stretching session, first and foremost. Followed by a hundred and fifty suburi swings, counted by every club member ten at a time.

"One...! Two...!" The chanting restarted in the front row.

The green haired apprentice stood second to last on the tatami, which had been cramped into the room it had not been made for. Towards the end, when the numbers rose roughly from strained throats was when he liked to show his endurance the most. Adding the fact that his favourite part were the pulse-bursting, shoulder-numbing and nerve-knotting rounds of weighted sword exercises that concluded each training, small wonder some of his team mates thought him for crazy. And Zoro let them. He would gladly take the title of a fool if it came with the rank of the very best.

The row of three in front of theirs was almost done. Between swings, Zoro glanced over at his fellow club member who would count before him, anticipating his turn. As he attempted to focus in on the rhythmic strikes of the stout young man's practice sword, however, something peculiar caught his eyes just beyond the peak of the slicing shinai, behind the hall's large windows.

The sight in the yard could have just as well have been very happy kid, from the way he kept jumping up and down. Except the blond guy through the glass was tall even for an adult, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips and a stubble of a goatee on his chin that just screamed _Sissy of the Year_. Also, on closer inspection, his skipping made him look more like a colossal moron than a child. He took the smoke from his mouth, to be able to talk enthusiastically into the receiver he had clamped against his ear. He must have won the lottery, the swordsman thought. And with that, the green-hair was just about to turn away when the blond's sudden motions startled his attention right back; arms raised, he started twirling around like a ballerina that had just gotten the leading role of a spin-top – with free coupons to a strip lounge as bonus, judging by that lecherous face he was making. Imagining what words could have left that crookedly grinning mouth of his was puke-inducing, to say the least. And when that pervert lifted the phone to his face, mimicking sloppy smooching, Zoro's stomach was next in line to pirouette.

"Nine...! Ten!"

Until he noticed him watching. From his lovesick duckface, the guy switched to the most venomous scowl in mere milliseconds, and the swordsman twitched, wondering whether he was hallucinating from that beer for breakfast...

"Roronoa!" His sensei's frown was a tad more intimidating, though. "Twenty for you! Less sleeping, more counting!"

Zoro immediately fixed his position, swinging with gusto and making utmost effort to get his blood to flow to his arms aside from his face. The twenty suburi were done in no time at all. And he wouldn't have minded another fifty – just to bash the head of the giggling blond creep's picture in front of his eyes in some more.


	2. Petal 2

**Petal 2**

**.:o.O.o:.**

The boxing bag slowly came to a halt in its last swings for the night, flicks of neon light playing on its chains. Wiping his brow, Sanji placed a hand on it to help it stop.

From a whole day of switching between standing and baking his ass in the kitchen and bee-dancing between tables with plates and plates of food, one would think a round of workout was the last thing a sous-chef longed to spend his time with. However, the blond cook's weary legs welcomed the extra stretching and straining on some evenings. Even if he had to train in the local gym alone at times, outside of his usual savate sessions. Not exactly a pampering massage, but still better than cramps and numbing.

Luckily, he cleaning lady liked him well enough to let him into their usual gym hall without his coach being present, and he was allowed to stay a little after closing hours. Not too long, though, lest he wished to spend the night, along with a few mop-prints on his sweatpants.

The restaurant was to host a grand reunion of some sort the next day, so Sanji knew better than to remain in the gym that long. He would even have time for a shower before leaving. Aside from that, after about half an hour, the irregular flickering of the dying neon tube in the back of the training hall really started to exhaust his eyes, not to mention his nerves, so calling it a day seemed like a good idea.

His sports bag in hand, the blond put the neon lighting in the hall to rest and stepped out onto the corridor. The cleaning staff cart was standing near the training hall in the opposite, so Sanji hung the key onto the end of a broomstick hanging out from it, then walked onwards to the changing rooms at the far end of the hallway. The main entrance was looming in front of him in the shadows, no lamps on in the trophy room to shed light onto it. The kendo club seemed to have left, the cook deducted with relief. This place could get crowded with that bunch around, and Sanji had enough of that for one day.

To his surprise, though, the handle of the dressing room door moved on its own beneath his fingers, and he was engulfed in disgusted shock when he was almost ran over by a guy with a practice sword, of all things. A sword, and infuriatingly green hair.

_Fuck no, not this asshole again._

"You–?" His enormous brow furrowed beneath the patch of grass he wore as hair. "Out of my way."

"Sure, how about you let me in first, dumbfuck?" Why must the last guy on earth he wanted to see appear before him? Maybe he should try this logic with the ladies...

"You're the dumbfuck, dumbfuck." Now that was just _weak._ "Get the hell back," the kendo clubber demanded, moving to step past him, but Sanji wouldn't let him pass, taking a swift step to block his tracks. He ruined his evening with his ugly mug, it was the least he could do.

"Aww, come on, you can do better than that, Marimo Swordsman," he smirked.

"Haa?!" The cook was sure the guy was trying to scare him away with his bad breath by how close he leaned. "The hell's your problem, _Ballerina Princess?_"

"What... was that?!"

"You heard me. How about you get on your tippy toes and twirl the fuck out of my way?"

"It's _you_ who's in _my_ way, you shitty rotten moss-brained fucktard of a stick-fiddling stalker-ass!" Sanji slapped a palm on the bastard's chest to shove him back into the locker room.

"What the hell are you calling me a stalker for, you pansy fuck?!" He guy wasn't shy to push him back, though, grabbing him by his shoulders. "Huh?!"

"Don't think I've forgotten how you were ogling me last week with that ugly fartface of yours! And, oh look, here you are again!" The cook pointed a stiff index finger towards the other man's gross grimace, which the green-head promptly slapped away. With the same momentum, the mossbrain slammed the balls of his hands against his shoulders again, but Sanji'd be damned if he allowed him to just toss him aside, steadying his legs on the ground and gripping his thick neck in protest.

"Be glad I didn't," the asshole grunted in effort, "throw up in your face! I swear, all your slobber could cause a zombie pervert epidemic!"

"Oh my fucking God, shut the hell up, your puke-breath is making me sick!" Sanji hissed, wrinkling his nose.

Beneath his palm, the blond felt a vein give a sudden throb, and the bastard Marimo's biceps bulged obscenely as he owerpowered him in a beat and caused him to tumble and fall down on his ass onto the hard tiles. His bag plopped down right next to him. The kendo sword seemed to laugh at him from the green haired shithead's, when the guy adjusted its strap on his back.

"You've got some fucking guts, curly-brow," he spat, grinning down on him.

"Oh yeah?!" The look on that smug cocksucker's face was priceless when the blond rolled over to plaster his hands onto the floor, and kicked the bastard's legs right out from underneath him in a blink of an eye. The shinai clattered away loudly from its groaning master. "At least I'm not stinkin' up the air in someone else's gym, you fucking beggar swordsman!" Now standing, he gave the sprawled-out wanker's side a taste of his shoe-sole.

"That's fucking _it,_ you piece of shit!"

The green-hair's grip caught Sanji's ankle like a bear trap, and within seconds, they were both on the floor, taking turns in tackling each other against its cold surface. The changing room stood dark, open and observing, long forgotten. Their bags were kicked and shoved around on the tiles like the sweatiest race cars to ever run laps – until they met their finish line, in the shape of the cleaning lady's hot pink crocs. That marked the end to their fighting, as well. Though, only after a few slaps of broom-bristles and many-many bows of apology.


	3. Petal 3

**Petal 3**

******.:o.O.o:.**

Salt lamps went out one after the other in a mellow orange glow, doing a reprise of the sun's departing rays outside. The faint, balmy scent of lavender filled all the rooms, left behind as a token of gratitude by the last customer of the day, trailing along the hallway to the front entrance where she had left about fifteen minutes past. The aromatic oil bottles were wiped off and put to their place. The sauna was off, the massage beds were cleaned and covered up and the used towels were dropped down the hatch for cleaning, fresh ones already readied on the shelves. Zoro cracked his neck as he exited the relaxation room of the beauty parlour. An all-day shift and fifteen people officially done. He was so ready to go home...

The familiar beep of the coffee machine welcomed him in the kitchen door. The boss was still here, and apparently she made some of that fragrant espresso she had brought from one of her journeys. Well, maybe he could stay a minute more.

"Ah, Swordsman-san," Nico Robin, the owner of the establishment greeted him with her usual enigmatic smile. "Thank you for your hard work today. Would you like some coffee?"

"Uh ye–" The green haired man was about to answer, walking closer to the oval table Robin was sitting at. However, he wasn't quite as eager anymore when the other end of the table became visible behind the fridge.

"Oh, hey, Zoro!" Nami gave him a salute-like wave. She was sitting on a chair backwards, her elbows on the headrest and her hands hovering over a bunch of pictures scattered between her and the other woman on the table. Hadn't the red witch gone for a cruise? On her boat she had bought from bribe-money from her students at the university? "The photos of Robin's and Franky's wedding party are finally ready. Wanna have a look?"

"Um, 's getting kinda late and..."

"I brought beer, too."

"Okay, fine." Zoro was seated on the closest chair before he even finished uttering the words. He now occupied the spot on Robin's left, while Nami sat on his boss lady's right side at the end of the table.

Usopp had snapped a ton of pictures, so there was a lot to show. Quite a few were taken of the couple's first dance, and of the serenade Franky sang to his beloved wife – among buckets of his tears and with Brook's accompaniment on piano. Of all the food that had been served, of the cutting of the giant red velvet wedding cake, of the various games the colourful company of friends and family had all joined in on, the bride's dances with lots of laughter and wiping snot from Robin's dress and...

Wait, what?

Blinking, the swordsman swiped a particular picture off the table and took a closer look. Robin was in centre in her lilac wedding dress, her black-gloved hands comfortingly braced on the shoulders of a man who was sobbing uncontrollably into a handkerchief. A white tux, pink shirt, blond hair and those_ fucking curly eyebrows!_

"Haha, oh lord, we even have pictures of_ that,_" Nami smiled wryly. "Poor Sa–"

"The hell was this guy there for?!" Zoro's cry of outrage cut the redhead's sentence short, startling both women in the otherwise tranquil kitchen.

"Oh my," Robin peered over his shoulder, "you mean cook-san?"

"But Zoro, that's Sanji-kun!"

"Haa? Who's that supposed to be?" The green haired masseur glanced at Nami dubiously. The only thing he knew about that blond fucker was that he breathed the same air with him too often for his liking, and it was so damn tempting for him to punch it right out of the bastard again each time they crossed paths in the gym. "Don't tell me he's your..."

"_Please,_ in his dreams," little miss professor waved a dismissive hand. There was no doubt it really was that lech now. Shit. "We went to high school together, though, all of us. Don't you remember him? Hmm, wait, maybe with a better picture, he's too messed up here..." She slid some of the photos aside to reveal a couple of the group pictures lying beneath. "Ah, this one," she said, picking one of them up and extending it to the man. When Zoro took it, she pointed a red manicured nail onto the guy standing together with Chopper and Luffy, arms around each other's shoulder and smiling wide to the camera.

"It would be absolutely horrible if it turned out that swordsman-san was hit by a truck and suffered amnesia..." Robin commented with a small sigh, though wore otherwise a completely indifferent expression, stirring her coffee before taking a sip.

"N-now Robin, don't say things like that..." Nami chuckled nervously.

Zoro completely ignored the ebony haired woman's even darker humour, however, sunken into thinking. He looked over the two pictures in his hand again, but was only reminded of that disgusting face the guy had produced, with which he had thrown his prided concentration off during training. He still wanted to thrust a weighted shinai up his lily ass for that...

"Oh, wait! I get it!" The redhead clapped her hands together. "Zoro, you transferred in fifth grade, right?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah," the man nodded. He had even needed to repeat a year because of it, which was why he and Nami had been in one class, with Luffy and Usopp as their underclassmen.

"Sanji was a year above us," she explained, "but he moved to France with his uncle at the end of our fourth year... So, basically, you guys missed each other! I totally forgot!" She clapped a palm onto her cheek.

"My, what an interesting development," Robin smiled. "I presume you two were not introduced to each other at the wedding?"

"Dunno. Not as far as I remember," Zoro answered honestly, shrugging.

"Well, maybe because you wandered off again and slept through almost the whole thing under a garden table..." The redhead pointed out with an unimpressed look, idly letting a photo swing between two fingertips.

"Haa?! Did not!" No way he had gotten lost, and he had definitely _not_ fallen asleep! He had just been going over his training routine in his mind, very thoroughly. Yes, that had been it.

"There's proof."

"Bullshit."

"Oh, but it is true," the black haired woman confirmed. She seemed more amused by the fact than anything else, which didn't come as a surprise from her at all. "You were so fast asleep the children could draw on your face."

"See?"

Nami flipped the photo between her digits once, then let it flutter onto the pile in front of the masseur. It had been dark outside when it had been taken, hence the picture was a little blurry, but it was Zoro in it, plain as day, lying cross-armed under the brim of a white table, his mouth open with his snores and different drawings all around his face. There was a chunk of meat scribbled on his left cheek, "I'M DA BEST" written on his forehead, a swirl on top of his eyebrow, his lower lip smeared with red...

At first, Zoro looked like he would erupt at any moment. Then, he recalled all the face-scrubbing he had to put himself through the next morning, in the mirroring surface of a dessert tray he had found in the grass among his wasted friends lying around snoozing near him. So, in the end, he just said:

"Oh. That's right."

The butt of an empty beer bottle soon hit his head ajar.

"IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY?!"


	4. Petal 4

**Petal 4**

******.:o.O.o:.**

Finally, it was here. His big day had come.

Sanji whistled on a jazzy tune as he was all but floating down the pavement. He didn't care that he had had a shitfucker of a customer to deal with that day in the restaurant, and he didn't give a damn about the cramp in his shoulder, either. All his troubles melted away – for he, the luckiest guy on earth was on his way to his date with Robin-chwan!

Well, truth be told, it was more of an appointment than a date. But theoretically, they _had_ agreed on the day and the time, so... Eh, close enough.

He even brought her coffee-flavoured chocolate. She would accept it from him with one of her sweet, mysterious smiles, then they would have plenty of opportunity to talk of little things, and maybe she would even give him just a little kiss aside from her hands' work... On his bare back, for a whole hour...

He broke out in a big, certainly non-creepy smile. A child was pointing a finger at him, but his mother covered his eyes and quickly led him away to the other side of the road. Sanji started humming on a love song again when he turned around the corner, with the sign of the large Beauty Complex signalling his ever nearing destination. Arriving at the main entrance with shiny metal doors and marble frame, the cook went over the many little signs next to each doorbell to find the right one to press. He could have gone right in through the automatic doors a little further off, as the establishment could have been likened to an enormous plaza with the sole purpose of nurturing health and well-being, but he didn't feel like walking around. He couldn't keep dear Robin-chan waiting!

Among the titles Crimial Brand Store, Inazuma Hair, Miss Valentine's Fitness Studio and Bon Ballet, his hand finally stopped above the logo saying Cien Fleur Massage, curved purple writing nestled on lotus flower petals. Upon pushing the button, a lovely female voice greeted him and asked for his name. However, his eloquent response seemed to have been enough of an identifier, since the door slid open within a second to invite him into the elevator. The correct floor had already been chosen for him, so all he had to do was to try and last those few more minutes until he could lay eyes upon the beautiful lady masseur he had come to meet.

"Welcome, Sanji-san!" Charming Keimi waved to him from behind the reception desk, whose voice had been the same one he had the pleasure hearing through the doorbell. She had looked absolutely fabulous in her pink and yellow dress at the wedding, but her cute west and shirt combo was also gorgeous.

"Ah, Keimi-chan, good evening~" He took her hand to kiss it, and she giggled in response.

"Your appointment should be at seven thirty, right?" She asked, confirming once more according to the list in front of her on the monitor.

"That's right," the blond nodded, then handed his club card over to the girl when he noticed her reaching for it. The paper card with the lotus logo had been a present from Robin-chan, with ten blank boxes on it for ten appointments. One of them Keimi filled with a lotus-shaped stamp, before giving it back to him.

"You'll be in the second room to the left. Go right ahead and make yourself comfortable," she motioned towards the corridor with her arm, smiling like a bright sunshiny day upon the weary grounds that was Sanji's soul – or so he told her, and she giggled again, just a bit more strained this time. What an adorably shy little thing she was...

Following the example of the other customers, he took his shoes off after his coat, and borrowed a pair of slippers from the shelf in opposite of the reception, then made his way towards the aforementioned room. His heart was excitedly pounding in his chest. Approaching the room, he heard rustling of fabric and the soft sounds of music coming from it – Robin-chwan must be already inside! He stopped for a moment to adjust his tie and comb his hair back with his fingers, just in case.

His first step into the room was also his last one, however. A nasty feeling of deja vu struck Sanji like lightning when instead of delicate arms, womanly curves and a sweet smile, he beheld rough, buff features reeking of testosterone, along with a hideous basalt-face frowning at him from under a layer of moss.

"Eh?" The cook could only gasp. Why was this shithead here? Was he trying to steal his time alone with Robin-chwan? How dare he?! "The fuck–" He began voicing his thoughts before he could take a look at the uniform shirt the bastard was wearing – the logo was there, the purple script on lotus petals... "Eeeeeh?!" That couldn't be. Impossible! "A sec," he mumbled, unsure why, and bolted out of the room as if chased by a pack of wild dogs, losing a slipper on his way.

"Oh? Sanji-san, what's the matter?"

"Wha... What's..." The wheezing cook had to brace himself on the reception desk with both hands, and he almost knocked down the vase of lilies on top of it with his shaking. "Keimi-chan, what... Where's Robin-chan? T-there must be a misunderstanding..."

"Robin-san?" The girl blinked at him in confusion. "But Sanji-san, Robin-san is on her honeymoon for the next two weeks. You knew that, didn't you...?"

"Ho-honey... moon...?"

Sanji grew deathly pale. His one and only Robin-chwan, a married woman. To that blue haired bastard of a mechanic and maintenance guy of all people. He still couldn't believe it was true, even when it had been his turn to dance with the dazzling bride at the wedding... And the concept of honeymoon had slipped his mind completely.

"Sanji-san? Hey, are you okay?" Keimi sounded worried whilst poking the top of his head, which he had dropped down onto the desk, whimpering. "Can you hear me? Sanji-saaan!"

"Keimi-chan, you have to go on without me... Leave me here to die..."

His day was ruined, his dreams were crushed. He was losing control of his life, of his feet, sliding along the carpet. He didn't even know where his other slipper was...

"Aww, Sanji-san, I understand how you feel," the receptionist assured, patting his hand. "We miss Robin-san too. But cheer up! She'll be back from Honolulu soon, and I'm sure she'll bring some nice souvenirs!"

"She'd better bring me some booze for making me work all her shifts."

_Not looking up, not looking. Nope. It's just a dream, a very bad dream..._

"Ah, Zoro-san! I wonder if they have any special drinks in Hawaii..."

"Oi, curly. You okay down there?" There was a nudge to his shoulder. The one that hurt the most, of course, that mouldy-headed _shitty son of a..._

"Fucking grass-brained fartface...!" Sanji mumbled ominously from the desk, grabbing a hold of the guy's wrist. Everything was this motherfucker's fault, all of it. This shithead was the moss on the cogwheels of his life, and he would break his shitty arm for it. "I'm gonna slice you up, dice you and serve you as an Icelandic moss plate–!" He snapped his head up so he could yell into his face better, but a sharp pain to his neck rendered his shouts onto yowls in two seconds flat, and he sunk closer to the floor, hissing. "Cluster-_fuck...!"_

"Sanji-san!" Keimi got so scared she knocked her chair over as she stood.

"That looks pretty bad." What the heck was he on about now? As if he fucking _cared._ "C'mon, I'll have to check that out," the guy said as he loomed above the cook and tried to pull him up by locking elbows. Sanji would have none of that shit.

"Don't fucking touch me!"

"Huh?!"

"Z-Zoro-san, calm down..." Keimi-chan sounded scared. That fucking asshole, showing his ugly mug in the company of women like that, and making him swear, to boot...!

"Oh, so you wanna cry on the floor some more? I don't give a damn, but make up your mind, will ya? You're wasting my time, here."

There was silence for a while. Save for the storm of inner turmoil in Sanji's head. He had had a crap day at work, his shoulders were hurting because of his attempt to stop that drunk customer, and not even his sweet angel Robin-chan was here to cheer him up. And his appointment was going to waste...

"Sanji-san," the receptionist spoke up, leaning over her desk, "you really should let Zoro-san fix your neck if it hurts that bad. He's scary sometimes, but he's a very qualified masseur, so you don't need to worry!"

"Keimi, what the hell?!"

"Are you really a masseur?"

The foyer was still for a second once more. It made Sanji regret voicing the question all over again.

"Haa?" That buffoon looked down onto him with surprise.

"I asked you if you were really a shitty damn masseur, are you deaf or something?!" He was so agitated at his own stupidity that he forgot all about the ache. Not for long. "Oww, shit...!"

"I am," the man – Zoro, his name was? – answered him coolly.

The blond sous-chef shuffled his legs, and securing his hold on the desk, stood upright again; because he could stand up on his own, fuck you very much. He brushed the dust off his trousers and straightened his suit jacket.

"Excuse this horrid scene I've made, Keimi-chan." He stubbornly ignored his sores as he reached for the girl's hand to hold it during his apology. "It was very uncouth of me." Then, he turned to the grumpy oaf standing next to him. "What the heck, I'll give you a shot to make this right, from the goodness of my heart. Not that I trust that your hands would be much good to anything else than scratching your balls... Huh? Hey! Where do you think you're going?! OW... Owowow..."

"Are you coming or not?" Came the 'reply' from the green-head, halfway in the room already.

Keimi chuckled quietly behind the reception desk as Sanji started on a mumbling-grumbling march along the hallway. He picked his lost half of the slippers back up from where he had left it, at the bottom of the wall opposite the massage room. With the strong intent of slapping that shitty bastard over the head with it.

A few minutes later, however, both slippers were neatly placed in front of a chair. On the back of which the cook had draped his suit jacket, his tie, and was in the middle of shrugging out of his shirt to let it join them, too. In a different setting, where it had been Robin-chan washing her hands at the sink in the other end of the room, this act would have been much more pulse-spurring. But as it was, with that Zoro guy reaching for the hand towel, Sanji only felt like retching.

"Was it a full-body?" The green haired bastard turned to him to ask.

"Uh..." The blond pretended he didn't remember spinning in happiness when the queen of all massage salons had offered him the once in a lifetime opportunity to have her hands all over him, which he had eagerly agreed to. "Nah, just the back. The back's fine."

"'kay." He walked over to the other side of the large window in opposite of the door, to a shelf with numerous bottles neatly organized on it. "Lose the pants, though."

"What?" Sanji stopped mid-motion to stare at the other man.

"Unless you want to get them dirty," the masseur cocked an angular eyebrow at him, shaking the bottle in his hand a little to make his point. "I can look away if you're shy, though," he added with a grin so shit-eating that Sanji could _smell_ it.

"I could help you with that. I mean, how about I gauge your eyes out and stick them up your asshole so you can take a real close look where your fucking brain is."

"Right after I fix your neck, though, right?" That made Sanji's sneer die down pretty quick. Ah, what the fuck, he couldn't even manage to be witty on this suck-ass day.

When his dress trousers had been folded and laid onto the seat of the chair, the chef ambled over to the massage bed, and lay down on his stomach on top of it, not sparing the masseur-swordsman a glance. He exhaled deeply at the cool feel of the clear white sheet beneath him. Only then had he truly noted how tired he actually was.

"Don't try anything funny, you hear me?" He murmured, positioning his face into the holed headrest.

"Yeah yeah, just keep your mouth shut, focus in on the music and I promise I won't break your tender little back."

Another soft sheet had been draped over his legs. Sanji could hear the popping of a bottle cap and with his next inhale, he filled his lungs with the scent of mint and rosemary. He hissed silently when the massage gel touched his skin, along with two large palms.

"Fuck, this shit is cold..."

"Bear with it, crybaby," came the stern reply. "Your muscles need it."

The first few grips and prods were quite uncomfortable, and the blond had to bite his lip not to yelp and struggle too much. The bastard was right for once; it was a necessary pain. Sanji tried to imagine the hands working on his back to belong to Robin-chwan, but he dismissed the thought quite quickly – the Marimo-head's barbaric grip felt nothing like a woman's gentle touches, for one, and the whole situation was weird enough without fantasizing, the cook found. There was no chickening out.

After that, he did as he had been told and listened to the music playing soothingly from somewhere in the background. The gel on his back began to feel like a gentle, warm breeze. His skin came alive with tiny buzzes of bloodflow wherever the masseur loosened his knotted muscles into submission, rubbing warmth into the rush of goosebumps that made his small hairs stand on edge along his spine. The blond slowly let go of the edge of the bed and rested his arms at his sides instead. By then, he merely took a deep breath when the joints of Zoro's hands kneaded over him. Sure fingertips circled at his lower back, all the way to his nape, causing him to shiver with each inch upward. And when the man started on his neck, Sanji foud himself sighing... The melody seemed to grow quieter, somehow, drifting far, far away with each slow breath of aroma oils caressing over his senses. He was suddenly at the beach of his childhood home, the wind in his hair. Collecting shells and pebbles for the sweet little girl next door, and getting a peck on his cheek and a candy heart in exchange. Hanging freshly washed laundry with his uncle, then kneading bread for supper, and it had been his turn to choose the flour that evening. His first sip of wine, to the first whole goose he had roasted all on his own...

A rush of water had pushed him to the brink of reality once more. Waves turned into drips in the sink, and Sanji noticed the minty scent in his nostrils again, tender, like a greeting from an old friend. The warmth of hands was missing from his back, replaced by a soft terrycloth. The blond raised his head groggily. He had fallen asleep.

"Ah, you're up." He saw the green-head smiling at him as he slowly leaned up onto his elbows. The man had already changed to a casual black T-shirt and faded blue jeans from his work clothing, and the room itself was tidied up and ready for the night. "Good timing, too. We're about to close."

"Yeah, uh... Just a minute." He yawned and sat up.

Having gotten over dressing, some awkward courtesies to the masseur and sleepy good-byes to Keimi-chan, the sous-chef was headed home. On half of the way, he felt like falling back to sleep. After a while, though, his circulation said hello with a good punch to his face, making him fidgety and eager to get back to his apartment. And then, having parted with his clothes for good, his hand trailed down his own abdomen, warm and flushed from his hot shower. Again, he wanted to imagine Robin-chan's fingers stroking him. But, he had been cursed, most likely.

He couldn't get the sensation of those coarse, firm, _shitty damn_ hands out of his mind...


	5. Petal 5

**Petal 5**

******.:o.O.o:.**

Nine o'clock. Zoro threw his phone back into his bag and reached for his towel. Nine was still okay; he could have four hours of sleep before his shift at the salon. That and a cup of red eye, for starters.

The trophy room wasn't locked now that it stood empty, aside from the tatami covering the floor; all their larger training equipment was stored along with the other gym supplies for the time being, for convenience's sake. Thus, the swordsman could sneak in to do some extra training when the cleaning lady wasn't looking. She had probably noticed him long ago, but as she hadn't swept his ass out yet, she didn't seem to mind him around. Zoro still didn't want to anger her – after what had happened last time...

There was a rattling sound and his grip tightened around his practice sword. It couldn't have been the cleaning lady. Her cart sounded different.

Silently, Zoro slipped out the trophy room door and turned off the lights. The green haired man paid close attention to make as little a noise as possible with his bag as he walked, listening keenly. He heard a groan and halted for a breath, then continued down the hallway, until the arrived at a training room with closed doors, but light seeping out from the slit beneath. He tried the doorhandle, and when it yielded, he opened it to a crack. A foot was the first thing he saw, with a bandaged ankle, and leading up on a hairy leg he found another folded next to it, and the rest of the person hunched over them. Blond head of hair and barred teeth, clearly in agony.

"Fuck off."

The angry hiss cut sharply through the silence, as did the blue eye that seemed to want to dart a hole into his brow. It was still far too little to scare Zoro off.

"Cramp?"

"Yeah..." The kendo apprentice kept a close eye on the other man as he lowered his bag. The guy, Sanji, extended his sore leg, his foot raised and pulled up towards his ankle with his hand to try and ease the strain, but as he wanted to bend his knee again, he sucked his breath in and had to yank his toes back once more. "Just a cramp, so I can handle it on my own. Run along home to your aquarium, Marimo."

"Give it here," the swordsman said, sitting back onto his heels in front of the blond.

"Don't you fucking touch me, shithead. Get lost." Sanji kicked towards him with his other leg.

"You wanna keep doing this the whole night, Eyebrows? Give it here, I said, you stubborn fuck."

The guy he had almost been school rivals with gave him a long, measuring look. His gaze bounced from his face to his hands, then back to lock eyes with him.

"And you know what you're doing?"

_This again, _Zoro sighed inwardly.

"I'll file you a copy of my certificate later. Now, for the last time: _give it here."_

With a sudden swish, as if having reached into a bowl of needles, Sanji retracted his hands, to give him space. Zoro scooted closer to him on the floor, picked the injured limb up by the ankle and placed the man's heel onto his thigh. From his bag, he slapped some salve onto the hairy skin and from there, it had all been routine, from his starting days as a sports masseur – he worked from the toes, down on the sole, through the ankle, mapping out the knot in the calf, and the same route back again, easing the pain away slowly.

He got a mumbled 'thanks' for his trouble, when they parted ways at the main entrance of the gym. However, about eight hours and two coffees later, Keimi called him to the reception desk to hand him a package. A box wrapped in a green handkerchief, containing eight seasoned rice balls, and a note:

_'Nobody owes nothing to no one. Shithead.'_


	6. Petal 6

**Petal 6**

******.:o.O.o:.**

"Robin-chan, my sweet. Can I ask you something?"

"But of course, cook-san, I will answer to the best of my ability." The dark haired, nicely tanned woman sat down next to him at the oval table, handing him a cup. Franky had gone ahead to get the car from the parking lot; enough time for some coffee. And an inquiry.

"Say... Don't you feel strange massaging men?"

"Not any stranger than massaging women, really," the lady of the house confessed, and Sanji would have needed something to stuff his bleeding nose with if not for the situation at hand. "Have I been too gentle on you?"

"Um, n-no, Robin-chwan, you were wonderful!" He raised his palms in protest. "I just mean, well... Isn't it a little awkward when men start to... Well..."

"React to my strokes?"

The beautiful ornate tablecloth almost got a taste of the cook's drink.

"U-um, y-yes, I..." He stammered, like fucking a blubbering idiot, but sweet Robin-chan just smiled at him.

"No need to worry about it, cook-san. It is quite natural for arousal to happen, since a massage is very beneficial for the circulation and metabolism. It does not bother me at all."

"Oh. Then I'm glad," the blond sighed with relief, a palm on his chest.

"And I am quite sure," Robin's lowered lashes whispered of mystery, "no one in this line of work would think ill of you if they noticed..."

Only when Franky barged in noisily to call for them did Sanji remember to close his gaping mouth.


	7. Petal 7

**Petal 7**

******.:o.O.o:.**

"Long time no see, curly-brow." The blond was not even in the room yet when Zoro greeted him. He didn't aspire to be a medium of any kind, and it wasn't exactly needed, either. Whenever there was forced giggling and gross cooing at the reception, the green-hair had a pretty good idea who's turn it was.

"Hello to you, too, Marimo Swordsman," Sanji snorted as he stepped to the chair to start undressing, as usual.

"Just the back again today?"

"No," the blond seemed contemplative. "I'd like the whole thing, please."

Zoro's hand stopped on the oil bottle.

"Oh?"

"What's the matter, shithead? _Embarrassed?"_ The sound of a zipper, rustling about... The cook had already comfortably extended himself along the massage bed, in the usual position. "I can look away if you want~"

"Careful there, I have you in arm's reach, sissy fucker." The masseur cracked a knuckle.

"I'd hope so, moss-for-brains. Now get on with it, I don't have all day."

Zoro didn't need more convincing. The motherfucker would be putty in his hands soon enough, anyway; he would love to see if he could throw corny nicknames at him _then._ However, the green haired man soon found himself in quite the predicament, as soon as the muscles beneath his fingers were neatly warmed up. Sanji didn't keep his sounds to himself this time...


	8. Petal 8

**Petal 8 – Love Me (Not)?**

******.:o.O.o:.**

Auburn light illuminated one end of the dark leather couch in the corner of the room. The only other bulb on was in the kitchen, above the sink with drying plates and a pot collecting drops from the tap, awaiting its scrub the next morning.

"Mmm... There's good..."

There was no massage gel to overpower the scent of the blond's cologne in Zoro's nose. His shoulders looked vulnerable beneath his hands, with his shirt only slid down halfway, enveloping his frame in a crumpled, soft disarray. His neck felt warm; but had the swordsman been to touch the blond's face, he would have been in for a surprise.

"Thanks," Sanji sighed, and he felt the other man's hands retreat with one last stroke to his prickling skin, as they had taken up the habit of doing.

"I should start stamping your card for this, tho'," Zoro smirked, and he wondered why his fingers accompanied the hands of the man sitting between his legs as he concealed his back again under his shirt.

"And who was it who fed you tonight, you ungrateful ass?"

"You have a bigger tab than that, cook." The blond could see his grin for himself, turning around halfway to look at him.

"Really?" His gaze trailed down the swordsman's face, following his left arm that ended in his strong hand resting atop his knee, which he picked up between his own fingers slowly. "Now that you mention it, I wanted to give you something else, too..."

Grey eyes were irreparably locked onto hot lips brushing against his tingling fingertips.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah..." Sanji sighed the word against the tanned skin he held close to his face, and felt it quiver when he took a digit in his mouth. He glanced at the man's face again; his lips were parted, but he had nothing to say. He just kept watching him with those piercing eyes of his, the ones that made his legs tremble when he let go of Zoro's hand and shifted into kneeling on the floor in front of him, nestled between the green haired man's thighs.

"Sanji..." The green haired man swallowed, eyeing slender fingers caressing up his knees, closer to his groin with every heartbeat.

"So you _do_ know my name," the blond chuckled low, tracing over the masseur's fly with his nail. He would give him something back, all right. His revenge, for all the sleepless nights he had given him by mere touches of his hands... "Not bad... for a mossbrain."

"So what's mine?" The swordsman blurted when his jeans became looser by a button.

"So you want me to say it?" It was fun to see how unsure the muscular man became when the tables were turned and he was the one being felt up. Right now, by Sanji's fingers sneaking their chill beneath his underwear. "You want me to call you...?" He whispered close to the swordsman's bare cock, unwrapped from the elastic layer. "Zoro..."

"_Oh fuck..."_

Zoro's hardworking hands had gotten their just payment, to be sure. Soft, blond hair to grip and dishevel with his fingers, on top of Sanji's head bobbing up and down on him. Rendering him into a molten mess this time...

At the blond's following appointment with the green haired masseur, they both decided that the treatment room desperately needed a key.


End file.
